


Come Sit By My Fire

by liketogetlost



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm invading your space, Tennant. Bloody chat show tonight, I think it's that redheaded bloke. I've been eating all day, I'll probably look like a fucking whale tonight. I'm nervous. What's your new address, Hollywood?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Sit By My Fire

It's not as if they'd planned it.

Over five thousand miles and five months without talking. He never said goodbye and she never said good luck. One day her phone rang only once, five times in a row because he hit her name in his contacts and then chickened out before that second ring came about. 

_"Hollywood is full of pricks and tits. I'm not worried about it, I don't need a bloody Emmy to feel appreciated."_

He wishes he could be like her. But on his good days he's a bit of an egomaniac and yeah, he wants that crossover appeal. If fucking Hugh Laurie could do it, why can't he?

Besides, they transmit her show over there, too.

_"Sod off! It's not the same thing. I do a few appearances, I'm not filming over there or anything. You couldn't pay me enough."_

She's in town for one of her appearances. Leaves him a voicemail cause she calls him while he's on set.

"I'm invading your space, Tennant. Bloody chat show tonight, I think it's that redheaded bloke. I've been eating all day, I'll probably look like a fucking whale tonight. I'm nervous. What's your new address, Hollywood?"

The sound of her voice is cheeky but guarded. He misses the days when she didn't hate him. He replies with a text, adding a daft smiley face at the end because he's too much of a goddamn coward to call her back properly. The minute he presses send he wants to go back and delete the damn double dots and bracket thing.

Georgia's left a voicemail too, but he doesn't read it.

 

Her green dress shines just as bright as the diamond on her finger, and her smile outdoes them both.

Polite chatter and ragging on his new digs, _"are these designer cardboard boxes?"_ , then the wine and he can't keep his eyes off her legs, hair, lips, tits, everything. Distance has made his cock grow harder and every time she licks the drink off her mouth and leaves a red print on his glass he'll hate to clean off later his blood pumps tenfold. 

"So bloody hot out here. I see you got a bit of a tan."

She's teasing him. He doesn't tan, he burns. Or he freckles. Right now his face is a fucking minefield of the damn things, the make-up girl hates him for it.

But she tans. Beautifully. Proof of that is swinging back and forth over the edge of his dining room table where she sits. _Swing, swing_ , feet bare and toes red and she's been at the pool already today, he can tell. Brown and smooth and he remembers the way she used to lay her feet in his lap and tell him to rub them after a long shoot. He wants to offer now, to sooth the last year or so away, but he doesn't.

"Sell out."

She's not teasing him anymore, but she's pretending she is.

Something inside breaks, and then there's yelling. It's been a long time coming, really, and it rages from them both like the fucking Santa Anas. She stands and throws the glass at the wall when he says he wasn't the one who got married. His face burns red when she starts in on Sophia, starts in on the shit about being second best and being stringed along and he hits his fist against the coffee table in front of him when he calls her on her bullshit and asks her when did her ever know her when she didn't have a boyfriend.

"Why did you come here, Bills? Just to break my shit and throw your happy life in my face? Why don't you go back to your bloke and your kid and just get the fuck out of my life?"

It's only when he feels the heat of her breath on his face does he realize he's gotten up, walked over to her and placed himself in front of her, trapping her against him and the table. They both breath harder, her eyes are wet like when she's angry and turned on, and he doesn't know which one of them caves first but then he's pushing her to sit on the table and his hands are on tan legs and her tongue is like fucking candy in his mouth and she sings a moan between his lips that makes his stomach clench.

Arms wrap around his neck, fingers bury in his hair and she smells like chlorine and sunshine and something he's missed for far too long. Her dress is thin and silky to touch and easy to pull up her waist so he can run his hands up her thighs and make her whimper against his neck with his fingers. 

Knickers wet and barely there, thin fabric he pushes to the side before crooking two fingers inside her and turning her whimper into a deep moan. 

"Gonna make you come so hard Bills, missed you so fucking much. S'good love, come here." He doesn't even know what he's saying, using one hand at her bottom to pull her closer to the edge. Her hands are busy undoing his zip and he's hot and hard in her grip before he can even let out a breath. Strokes him, hard and fast and tight and he wills himself to leave the soft heat between her legs and grip her wrist with a shaking hand because it's too much and he wants to fuck her good and proper, make her forget about the ring on her finger with the push and pull of his hips.

"Too close, there? Thought you'd be a long shag, Teninch." She's teasing him again, all tongue and teeth, but her voice is laced with lust and something he wants to call love in his sick twisted romantic brain and he breathes in real deep and slow to calm himself.

"Billie, just be glad I didn't lose it in my trousers when I heard you knock on the door." 

Her laugh is infectious, loud, harsh and sweet and something he didn't know he'd missed so much and he feels himself shake with his own laughter that he muffles into the softness of her hair. 

But one soft squeeze of her hand and his laugh dissolves into a growl as he grips her bottom and pulls her close. She doesn't miss a beat as she brings him home and he loses himself in _tight, hot, wet_ and it's fucking brilliant and he doesn't ever want to let her go.

Swears dirty sweet words into her ear as she locks her thighs around his waist and takes him deeper, until she's panting into his shoulder and scratching the moment into the back of his neck. His hips work fast and hard with the weight of the last five years of knowing her, wanting her, _loving her_ , and maybe he says it, won't own up to it later but gasps it rough amoungst the filth as she tenses, gripping his hair and making beautiful noises that he's only heard in his dirtiest dreams.

It's as simple as her saying his name with a shaky breath. Limbs sweaty and muscles tight and dress straps coming down so breasts crush against his chest and he manages three more thrusts before he breaks, spine tingling and bottom clenching as he comes, slamming one palm against the hard surface of the table and sliding the other across the pool of sweat on her lower back. Curses around her name and breathes, hard and fast and tries to keep his knees from failing as she holds him tight.

They stay like that for what feels like another five thousand miles before he pulls back and sweeps the hair out of her face. It's like she doesn't want to look at him, but finally does, blushed from cheeks to chest and his stomach drops with the weight of their reality. 

"'m sorry." 

Fuck.

Because she has nothing to be sorry about and he fucking goddamn loves her, for fuck's sake, and it's there, between them and the sweat and his cock still soft inside her but it was just a stupid thing he said as he was getting off and it has to stay that way. At least for now.

"I hope your show gets canceled." All cheek as she pulls her dress over her shoulders.

He leaves the warmth of her and smirks, blinking the wetness from his eyes. "I hope your marriage ends."

 

 

He watches her on his telly that night as he cleans up her broken glass. Still wearing the dress that she fucked him in and a smile that doesn't match her eyes. Jokes about hookers and sploshing and charms the audience and every lucky couch potato that happens to be watching at that particular moment, including him. Tells a story about chickens and bird poo and Laurence jumping a fence to escape their coop and a big shard slices into his palm when he reaches to pick it up with his hand without thinking. 

The next day she's five thousand miles away again and the wound still stings.


End file.
